


Asphyxiation

by markofthemoros



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Asphyxiation, Choking, Gen, Mindfuck, Prompto Argentum Needs a Hug, Whump, Whumptober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 08:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21115499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markofthemoros/pseuds/markofthemoros
Summary: Prompto Argentum has ghosts. The worst of them being his own. Angsty short.





	Asphyxiation

**Author's Note:**

> I hope the ending doesn't seem too rushed. I left it like that on intention; do tell me if if works or not?

The other looks like him, acts like him. Hell, with the simultaneous, identical tilt of the head, that thing  _ is  _ him. However, Prompto could never imagine such a sharp smile on himself, doesn’t think himself capable of something like the savagely shit-eating grin twisting his mirror image’s features. Wide enough to almost hide his upper lip, that should have hurt him. But the other doesn’t bat an eye, doesn’t even flinch; in fact, the smile cracks a fraction wider as it takes a few sauntering steps closer.

Prompto is on his third pace as he realizes he’s backing up.

“Stay back…!”

“Why?”

It’s remarkable -and frightening- to hear his own voice despite knowing he never uttered any of that.

“What’s got you all riled up?” The other flicks its wrist, and Prompto’s eyes visit the awfully familiar flash of blue that solidifies into a blade. Only so many times has he seen that dagger draw blood, has helped a few times to clean it afterward.

For it to rest with the man who looks -‘And sounds,’ his mind supplies,‘and walks and talks’- just like him is enough to have Prompto taste acid.

The familiar weight of the gun stills the trembling of his hand as it settles in his palm.

Prompto doesn’t trust his mouth. He wouldn’t like what would come out if he allowed it to speak. So he doesn’t, simply raises the gun: hot and heavy, trained onto his double like this wasn’t macabre.

The other does stop, too. For a moment, until his shoulders begin to tremble. That face crumbles, that satanic smirk finally melts away. His eyes narrow, and by Astrals, Prompto wishes they hadn’t! Like that, the unnatural red looks even more haunting. More concrete, as if that small shift had sealed something; an uncanny deal with the devil, one Prompto hadn’t signed but the dues were his to pay regardless.

Still, the most unsettling thing about it was the chortly, stifled cackle rising up from the other. Growing into barking laughter, water prickles at the corners of the imitation’s eyes as it lets the dagger go. “Oooh, wow. You’re a riot, you know that?”

“Shut up!”

“Again, why?” The mirror image spreads its arms wide as it resumes its stalk closer. Their eyes glued onto each other -sky blue to its tainted ruby- each motion, each shrug of a shoulder, each wink is calculated as it corners Prompto despite him being the only one in the possession of a weapon.

“Aren’t we the same? You...all of us?”

The other is others. Around them, five duplicates -versions, images...clones?- all wearing a side of Prompto, all sauntering closer. One of them is wearing the same fur-lined jacket and skiing pants, its mannerisms mimicking every tremor of Prompto’s profusely shaking aim arm. 

It’s difficult to hold the gun up. It shouldn’t be, he...he needs to protect himself, he…

He is… “...not like you.”

The other halts, his face going blank. Then, without even blinking, the boy presses his chest against the barely upheld barrel. “Really?”

“Eeh?!”

“What makes you any different from the rest of us? You’re not any better, nor are you special.” Prompto’s arm wants to resist, wants to stay strong as the gun barrel is gripped, and the other begins to twist it away.

“Any and every single one of us could have been you. Could still be you.”

Prompto lets out a choked-up whimper as the gun is wrought from his hand.

“You simply lucked out. Does that make you any better from the rest of us?”

“What right should you have to exist, when the rest of us were deemed a failure?”

They grab his arms. Prompto’s voice breaks as he fights the iron grip, but he can barely wriggle in the hold. His breath hitches as cold fingers -pulseless, he notes. Lifeless and stiff- wrap around his throat - and start squeezing.

“Perhaps it’s you who deserves to join us,  _ brother _ . Your time was stolen anyway. This is your true essence, our one purpose-”

Prompto’s treacherous mouth is silenced as his breath’s are cut from him. Gaping, he chases after the feeble gulps of air.

“Come on, brother. Face us. Learn of us.”

“..mon kid.”

“Come on.”

Prompto’s eyes water, but he can’t tell from the darkness behind his squeezed eyes. There is the sting, though, as his body begins the fight for survival. His lungs and on fire and with animalistic rage, he tries to tear himself free. The grip only renews, harsher than before, and his mouth moves against the nothing as the fingers tighten around his throat. Fatigue starts to spread into his limbs as he starts dying-

“C’mon…”

* * *

At first, she thought nothing of it, although the restless whines rising from the blond had her checking up on him a couple times. Aranea didn’t know the details -the kid hadn’t talked about it and she hadn’t pried- but it had to do with that lunatic geezer, Verstael. 

Whatever the kid had learned, it had wrecked him up, the huntress saw that in the shattered demeanor of the other. Today had been a lot to take in; for him to dream vividly was understandable. In a way, the boy’s tossing and muttering in the throes of whatever nightmares troubled him was a good sign. At least he still  _ felt _ . Be it so that those weren’t exactly  _ nice  _ feelings--

But when the kid, with a strained moan, turned onto his back and started choking himself in his sleep, Aranea didn’t hesitate a moment.

“Holy shit…”

Prompto was squeezing hard enough for his breath to hitch a little, but it still wasn’t enough to jostle him awake. “Hey. Hey, kid!” Aranea patted his cheek first lightly, then with more force.

As the blond only turned away from her touch but didn’t let go, she had enough. Grabbing his shoulder, Aranea spun him back onto his back. Prompto’s moan was delirious; out of instinct, the squeezed eyes didn’t appear any closer to waking up. He was still hurting himself. His breaths wheezed and he was shivering.

“C’mon now,” Aranea coaxed softly as she grabbed his wrists and applied pressure to wring the grip loose. “That’s enough.”

With a distressed whine, Prompto fought her. Aranea’s eyes widened; she leaned more of her weight to force his arms at his sides as the boy pressed against her hold.

“C’mon kid…”


End file.
